


And It's All Thanks to Chocolate Chip

by margctbishop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS, AU, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. - Freeform, F/M, Melinda is a mystery, Melinda is...well Melinda, Phil is a bumbling idiot with good intentions, Phil is a professor, Philinda - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margctbishop/pseuds/margctbishop
Summary: "Dear Chocolate Chip,I ought to kick your furry ass for having me make a fool out of myself in front of this woman.First impressions are important.Sincerely,Phil Coulson."





	And It's All Thanks to Chocolate Chip

To put things simply, the day was not showing any favors to Phil Coulson. For starters, the electricity had gone out in the middle of the night, resulting in his alarm having its system rebooted and consequently not going off when morning came. Then, he goes to pour milk in Skye’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch (he tries to fix healthier options most days, honestly, he does. But they were already running late and why was cereal invented if not for days like today?) only to discover that the milk had soured. And to make matters worse, he had forgotten his students’ research papers on his desk, even though he promised to have them graded and ready to return by this morning. He hated disappointing them.

            His first two classes rolled by more or less without a hitch, and the decision to go back home before his last class of the day began was an easy one. He could fetch the papers, and there was a piece of chocolate cake with his name on it on his kitchen counter. After the morning he’d had, he deserved the indulgence.

            The moment he stepped foot inside the flat, he felt something was amiss. After a quick visual scan, he located the source of the discomfort. In his rush to leave this morning, he must’ve left the window open after watering the box plants on the ledge. He walked over, pulled it down three-fourths of the way, and then he saw her. Her glossy, black hair rippled softly in the wind, deep brown eyes fluttering against the brightness of the sun as she lazily lifted herself from the ledge: his beautiful cat, Chocolate Chip (Chip, for short.)

            When Skye was younger, she had been gazing out that very window one rainy afternoon and noticed a very scrawny, very wet black kitten taking shelter under a dumpster. All Phil saw was a mess of brown hair flying out the front door and down the stairs before he realized what was happening.

            At first, he had been hesitant; he had never been a cat person. They seemed to always be plotting your inevitable demise with their beady little eyes and razor-sharp claws. But then Skye had unzipped her jacket and tucked the cat in, cooing to her softly and whispering words of comfort to the shivering little thing. And then, “Please, Daddy! You have to let her stay. She’s just like I used to be. She needs a family!”

And that had done it.

Skye adored Chocolate Chip, and Phil couldn’t believe how affectionate the cat was towards her. He had never known cats to be anything other than cold, but Chocolate Chip singlehandedly changed his perception. Where Skye was, the cat wasn’t far behind, and vice versa.

He grew to love her, too. Even when she was acting like a stubborn child and ignoring every word that came out of Phil’s mouth. Like now, for example.

“Come here, Chip,” Phil said, opening the window fully and beckoning to the cat. Chip returned his request with a blank stare before stretching (rather obnoxiously, if you asked Phil) and taking a few steps in the opposite direction. “Chocolate Chip Coulson, you get your furry behind back in here right now.”

Her ears twitched, but other than that, she gave no sign that she heard Phil in the first place. Instead, she opted for jumping onto the ledge that connected the neighboring apartment and making her way across. Despite his multiple pleas, her pace did not falter. And that’s when Phil noticed it: the open window to the neighbor’s apartment.

_Please, God, no. Let this one thing go my way today._

Chip spared one last look Phil’s way before pouncing onto the ledge and disappearing through the window. Phil sighed, letting his head fall against the window frame in defeat before turning and making his way next door, hoping against all hope that the owner of the apartment would be home.

In all his years at this apartment, Phil had not once officially met the woman next door. Once, a piece of mail with her address had mistakenly been slipped in with his. _Melinda May_ , the envelope had read, and he briefly considered knocking on the door and introducing himself. He had been raised up with good manners, after all. In the end, he settled for simply slipping it underneath her door.

He sent up a final prayer before delivering three swift knocks on the wood. He waited for what felt like forever, and knocked again. Still, nothing. _This was not happening._

There was only one solution, and deep down, he knew it. He couldn’t leave Chocolate Chip to her own devices in the apartment of a stranger. Who knows what she would get into? And if Skye returned home and her beloved cat was nowhere to be found…well he wouldn’t let that happen. He returned to his apartment in defeat, glaring at the box plants on the ledge with disdain as he hoisted himself out the window. The ledge seemed to grow infinitely smaller when he was standing on it, and the two stories he was off the ground seemed to stretch for miles. He forced himself to focus on the bricks, fingertips finding purchase wherever they could.

After what seemed like forever, he finally, _finally_ , arrived at the other window. He was not nearly as graceful as Chip when he climbed inside, but he managed to land soundly on his ass and not break anything, so he was counting that as a win.

A swift survey of the place left him with no further insight into the resident of the apartment. There were no pictures on the walls, no messes or spots anywhere. It was decorated simply but tastefully, and the only sign of life was the yoga mat left in view within an adjoining room. He rose from the floor, ignoring the creaking of his knees.

“Chocolate Chip?” he called quietly. Part of him knew it was foolish; clearly no one was home. Still, he felt like he was intruding (rightly so) and opted for creeping through the apartment like an inexperienced burglar. No sign of her in the kitchen or living room led him deeper into the home. He checked the guest room and bathroom, but nothing. He was purposefully avoiding the master bedroom, but in the back of his head, he knew that was where his searching would most likely prove fruitful.

Pushing open the cracked door, he made his way into the master room. Getting down on all fours, he peered under the bed and to his joy, found a pair of eyes staring back at him. He sighed in relief and began to strip himself of his jacket so he could climb more easily in order to drag the cat out. Then, a knee connected to the side of his face, and all he saw was stars.

He didn’t quite get a chance to marvel at their beauty because he was swiftly pulled to his feet. His assailant locked his arms behind his back firmly, and even if he wanted to struggle, he would be out of luck.

“Who the hell are you?” The voice above him was smooth, reminded Phil of velvet, with a hint of something laced in it. Humor, maybe? No, not quite. He couldn’t quite place the element, but she almost sounded like she was deriving pleasure in apprehending the intruder within her home. When he didn’t answer straight away, she kicked the back of his knee, causing him to drop and fall to his stomach as she hovered above him. “I said, who the _hell_ are you?”

“Name’s Phil. Phil Coulson,” he wheezed. “Well, Phillip J Coulson is the name I was given, but it always seemed sort of suffocating, like a winter coat that was a size too big, so Phil will do.”

The grip on him tightened, and his head was pushed even further into the plush carpet of her bedroom floor. “Let me rephrase, Phillip J Coulson: who is your employer?”

This gave him a pause, but he was quick to recover. “Hobart and William Smith College.” Her grip faltered slightly. And then, “I teach history.” After a few moments of what he assumed was consideration on her part, she released him, taking several steps around so she could look him in the face. This, of course, meant that he would be able to see her face, too, and running the risk of sounding corny but not much caring, he thanked God that he was already on the floor because the sight before him would have surely knocked him off his feet.

She was absolutely breathtaking, with ebony hair that swooped just below her shoulders and the most exquisite face he had ever seen. Her eyes were trained fiercely on his, and he felt as though his skin was on fire. And the fact that she had just proven she could kick his ass 7 ways to Sunday without breaking a sweat may or may not have made her infinitely more appealing.

“Why are you in my apartment?” she asked, drawing him out of his shameless gaping. Surprisingly, there was no trace of wariness on her face at all. Maybe a bit of exasperation (well, maybe a tad more than “a bit”), but she seemed to believe him.

“My cat- well she’s not really my cat, she’s my daughter’s cat, but anyway- she jumped into your window, and normally I’m very anti-breaking-and-entering, but I wanted to get her out before she could cause any damage.”

“So, you thought you’d just crawl into my window and look for her yourself?”

“Well, yes.”

It was a battle of wills that seemed to go on forever: him, a trickle of blood running down the right side of his face, and her, a stern expression that would battle that of a marble statue. Not surprisingly, he was first to break.

“Look, I’m really sorry. It’s just I had to find her because if my daughter gets home and Chocolate Chip isn’t waiting for her, all hell will break loose. I mean, she loves that cat more than anything, and she means more to me than…”

“Where is she?” the woman interrupted.

“My daughter?”

 “ _Your cat_.”

 “Oh,” he said, scratching the side of his head that wasn’t bleeding. He returned to his lying position (careful not to get blood on the rug, mind you) and peered back under the bed. “She was under here, but it seems she’s gone again.” He used the bed frame as leverage and lifted himself onto his feet, putting a hand to his head and bringing it back, blinking as he took in the blood. He didn’t realize he was swaying until she put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Come on,” she said, guiding him out of the room and into her kitchen. She directed him to a barstool and worked to fill an ice pack for his head.

“Where did you learn that stuff?” he asked, watching her move around the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and either she was an incredibly convincing actor or she genuinely had no idea what he was referring to. He didn’t push the matter and let her lift the ice pack to his head and guide his hand to hold it. “Hold it there. I’ll be right back.” She walked back into her room, returning moments later with a first aid kit. He didn’t protest when she took his hand and the ice pack away from his head so she could dress the wound. They fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the fridge creating an almost soothing rhythm. He tried not to stare as she worked, her brows knit together and her tongue peeking slightly between her lips in concentration, but it was futile. She was mesmerizing. She dropped her gaze slightly, drawing in a breath when she caught him watching her, but looked away just as quickly, a stoic mask slipping into place.

“There,” she said, swiping her thumb on the end of the Band-Aid she had placed over his cut. “Good as new.” She was leaned into him, merely a small expanse of countertop separating them, and he didn’t know if it was the cut to the head or the close proximity, but any hope he had of playing it cool flew out the window.

“Even better,” he hummed in agreement.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he amended quickly, chiding himself for his lack of filter. He only just met this woman; having her think of him as some blubbering idiot star struck by her beauty would be mortally embarrassing. Completely accurate, but embarrassing all the same.

“I suppose we should find your cat,” she said, standing up straight and turning away from him. He wanted to protest, but he couldn’t think of a way to do it without sounding like an idiot.

“Already found her,” he said instead, and she quirked her head to the side, brows furrowing in question. He pointed a finger upward, directing her gaze atop her fridge.

“Are you serious?” she deadpanned, and he returned it with a sheepish smile. He stood up, making his way over to the fridge, bar stool in tow. Climbing atop it, he retrieved Chip from her hiding spot.

“My daughter likes to hide on top of the fridge when we play hide and seek. Chip just sort of picked up her habits” he explained, holding the cat securely to his chest and making a mental note to restrict her treat supply after all the trouble she had caused him. Although, to be fair, Chocolate Chip was the only reason he was currently standing in this kitchen, with this woman (who was staring stiffly at the cat from her corner of the kitchen,) so he should probably let her off the hook.

“And you let her? Your daughter, I mean.” The disbelief was evident on her face.

“Well, yeah. She’s an eight-year-old with a ton of energy, and we don’t exactly have a back yard to go run around in. We have to make due.” She didn’t say anything in reply, but he swore he saw a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

The timer on the microwave caught his attention. _1:30._ His next class starts in 30 minutes. “Oh, crap, I need to go. I’ll be late” She merely hummed her acknowledgment. “I’m really sorry about this whole thing again. I’ll be sure to close our window tomorrow morning so we won’t have escapees.”

“That would be best,” she said simply, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Mind if I take the front door this time? I managed okay the first time crawling through the window, but with a cat, I fear I won’t be so lucky this go ‘round.” She chuckled softly and pushed past him, leading them to the front door and opening it for him. She eyed the cat in Phil’s arms warily as he walked through. “Sorry, again,” he said awkwardly and with his head ducked, he headed for his own apartment.

“Melinda,” she said, mostly as an afterthought. He turned his head, doorknob forgotten beneath his fingertips and a smile forming on his lips,

“Melinda,” he repeated. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Melinda.” She looked at him disbelievingly, her gaze shifting to the bandage by his temple. “Even under the circumstances.”

 

* * *

 

            When he returned back to campus and realized he had forgotten the papers a second time, he merely placed a tentative hand on his Band-Aid and smiled. Who could really blame him?

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt I saw on Tumblr. It was originally intended to be a one-shot, but I might add a second installment. Hope you all liked it! Reviews are very much appreciated!


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